I gape at her. “What?”
“Here.” Katia grabs something from her pocket and hands it to me.
“What’s this?”
Katia stares at me for a beat. “It’s what you’ve been looking for.”
I turn the slice of gold in my hands. “What is it, a memory stick?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen one this fancy.”
Katia almost smiles. “It’s filled with fifty years of files. Reports. There might even be names for the ones who went missing. Or at least photos.”
My grip tightens around the object. “Why are you doing this?”
She stares up at the sky for a moment before returning her gaze to mine. “The only reason I haven’t done this before is because I thought there was this chance, however microscopic, that they’d let me go.” She looks up and I follow her gaze to one yellow star. “Anyway, if I’m gonna stick around, I may as well watch them burn while I’m at it.” She glances back at me. “Take your shadow inside. At least until you get in the elevator. They’ll see you otherwise.”
She turns.
“Wait,” I say. “Where are you going? We might need your testimony or something!”
She looks back at me. “I’m sorry, Artemisia. About everything.” Then she fades.
I follow the shadow of La Llorona with my eyes until it disappears into the street.
207
MAMI IS DEAD.
Mami is dead again.
Fuck.
I almost laugh, but I weep instead, all over this beautiful, olive green carpet. I hear the creak of the door but don’t look up.
“Sia?”
Imani bends down, leveling her face with mine. “I was just about to leave for the hospital when I heard you. Christ, Sia. Are you—”
“Hospital?” I say. “Is my dad there? Rose? Noah?”
She nods. “Omar, too.”
I exhale, long and hard. “Here,” I say, handing her the USB. “It’s got everything. Everything.”
She takes a long breath. “Come on, Sia. Come inside.”
208
I WAIT UNTIL THE FULL moon to scatter mom’s ashes. Dad’s in the passenger side of my car, the urn in his lap.
I pull up to Adam and Eve, their arms rising like serpents.
When I park, we both say nothing for a long while. The only thing that speaks is the wind, whistling into the corners of my windows.
Dad clears his throat. “You ready?”
I nod.
“ ’Ta bien,” he says, which is ridiculous ’cause there’s nothing good about this, and even though I know it’s a figure of speech, I roll my eyes anyway.
I sit between the cacti. Dad stands next to me.
“Should we say something?” he asks.
I close my eyes and two tears cool my cheeks. “I don’t know what to say.”
Dad drops next to me. His arms are around my shoulders. “Me either, m’ija.”
“Then let’s just say nothing,” I say. “Like the dark of la tierra.”
Dad nods, releasing me. “Tell me that one again. I don’t remember it.”
I grab the urn, cradling it in my arms. “Abuela told me it just once. I’m not sure it’s right, but—” I take a breath. “Once there was a girl who wanted to know her one true path. And she thought the best way was to ask the sun, since the sun sees almost everything. The sun told her, I have never seen your path.
“Then she went to the sky. The sky told her, I have never seen your path.
“Then the girl spotted a serpent. And she said to the serpent, Please help me. I need to know my one true path and you must know about paths, since you make them wherever you go.
“The serpent said, Yes. If you want to know your truthful path, go to the moon.
“The moon told the girl, Go to the big boulder when the sky is black.”
“New moon black?” Dad asks.
“Yeah. And the girl went to the boulder when the sky was black like coffee. And there she met the spirits of Silence and Darkness. And they taught her that the most precious things, like paths that are true, can only be seen in shadows. In the dark and in the quiet. Like a seed in the black earth.” I close my eyes. “And when the sliver of moon returned the next night, her light shone on the girl’s footsteps, where she had walked away on her path.” I sigh and focus on the sand beneath me, sparkling in the sunset’s glow. “The weird thing, though, was there were tons of true paths for her. They were all spread out, long and lined like snakes. Her true path right then was just the one she’d chosen.”
“What does it mean?” Dad says after a bit.
I bite both my lips and glance at him. I mean, it’s got so many meanings. Like, there is no one true path. Or have some damn patience when you make a big decision. Eventually, though, I settle for: “I think it means that good things happen in the darkest places. Even though we can’t see them. Or hear them.”
Even if it feels like nothing good could ever happen again.
209
I POUR THE ASHES GENTLY. I see another hand helping me, and when I look up, I catch a vision of my grandmother.
The wind picks up, and we watch the ashes glide into the desert, swirling like spirits.
210
TU MAMÁ, MY GRANDMOTHER WHISPERS.
“Yes?” I say.
Ella vive.
I shake my head in a chuckle. “You’ve got to be joking, Abuela.” When there’s no response, I continue. “We just poured her ashes into the desert. Like, that just happened literally ten minutes ago, you old bat!”
Only silence greets me. Silence and darkness, as thick clouds pass over the moon.
211
“SO, YEAH,” NOAH SAYS, DRUMMING his hands on the podium. “People have been using the moon for hundreds of years—for mapping and directions. And farming. And counting time.”
“Can you repeat that last one, Mr. DuPont?” Mr. Woods asks. “Couldn’t hear it with the, ah—” He gestures to Noah’s hands.
“Huh?” Noah asks, his drumming even louder.
I grab his arms and still them. “Oh,” Noah says, his cheeks pink.
I smirk and shake my head. “We’ve been using the moon to count time for thousands of years.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Mr. Woods stands. “Does that conclude your argument?”
“Uh, we’ve got a little extra information,” Noah says, running through his notecards.
“A little conspiracy theory. None of which is true,” I add. “It’s just for fun.”
“Photographs of the moon,” Noah says. “Have shown structures. Like buildings, maybe. To some people.”
The photo on the screen behind us contains little blurs on a white landscape that honestly could just be specks on the camera lens.
“And some folks say it’s hollow and moonpeople live underground.” I click the computer on the podium and the picture shifts to a cartoon of little green men wandering moon craters.
“But those aliens are above ground,” says Thomas Windor.
“It’s just a cartoon.” I shrug. “Not, like, evidence.”
“Also.” Noah peers at his cards. “Some people say there’s a whole alien civilization on the moon’s far side. Which isn’t dark.” He lifts a finger. “That’s just a myth. And, uh… that’s about it.” He lifts his head up.
“Well done.” Mr. Woods smiles. “Questions, anyone?”
Chana Moore lifts her hand. “So, like, did aliens actually land in Phoenix? I mean, that ship-thing looked totally cosmic.”
I expect someone to laugh at her, but as I gaze at the class, everyone’s attention is as sharp as a sword. And they’re all looking at me.
I glance at Noah. His eyes are wide.
“Um,” I say, looking back at the class. “All the papers say it’s an advanced military craft. You know, one that was a secret.”
“My dad was in the Air Force.” Thomas crosses his arms. “He says he’s never seen anything like that thing in hi
s life. Not even in his dreams.”
“Um.” Noah stares at me.
“And all those interviews with the Sentinel interns,” Chana adds. “They all say there was this woman who, like, ran and moved so fast, she covered a quarter of a mile in a just a second—”
“And what about that insider, what was his name? Sabertooth? What about his social media feeds!” Thomas looks at me. “Sia, everyone says it looked like it was your mom on there, before it was taken d—”
“That’s enough,” Mr. Woods says. “As fascinating as these conspiracy theories sound, it’s important to remember that’s all they are. Theories.” He nods at Noah and me. “Thank you for your presentation, Mr. DuPont and Miss Martinez.”
Everyone claps as we return to our seats.
Rose places a hand on my back, but I barely feel it.
212
“REMIND ME,” NOAH SAYS WHEN we’re at my locker. “Why aren’t we telling anyone? About, you know. The X-Files stuff.” He whispers the last bit.
“Because they’ve covered that part up, Noah. Remember? No one’s going to believe it. Not anymore.”
“I know but… Thomas believes it.” He glances down. “Chana, too, I think.”
I shake my head. “No one can know, Noah.” I frown. “Otherwise I’ll end up just like my mom was. Chained to an operating table, sedated. Or worse. And the last thing I need is everyone knowing what a freak I am, anyway.”
He shakes his head. “Sia, you’re not—” But he stops. He runs his arm around my waist, pulling me in. “I know,” he murmurs instead. “I’m sorry.”
I want to cry, but I push the tears all the way down into my belly. Tonight, in bed, when I can see the moon at the corner of my window, rays of white light breaking through the clouds. I’ll cry then.
For now, I lean my head against Noah’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
213
I’M WAITING FOR ROSE ON the front steps when Jeremy walks by. He stares at me for a half second before scowling and stomping away.
A piece of paper falls from the folder in his hands. I watch it float to the ground like a white feather, and I stand and reach for it. It’s trig homework.
I almost laugh, because freaking Jeremy McGhee and I actually have something in common. Mathematic negligence.
“Jeremy.”
He pushes the door and walks inside.
I catch it before it shuts. “Jeremy.”
He turns. “What the fuck do you want, Martinez?”
I know I should expect this from him, but his anger. It stuns me every time. My gaze drops to the top of his shirt, where one button is undone. A piece of the fabric bends back, revealing a black bruise.
Jeremy looks down. He gives me a death glare as he tucks his folder under his arm and aggressively buttons his shirt. “I said, what the fuck—”
“Here.” I shove the paper at his chest. “You dropped this.”
He swallows, staring. I watch the bob of his Adam’s apple so I don’t have to look at his face.
“Oh.” He takes it into his free hand, the tips of our fingers grazing for one second. In that moment, I wonder about where hate comes from. If it was passed to Jeremy by the fists of his father, and maybe Sheriff McGhee’s father did the same to him, all down the line until we reach the murder of Abel. Until we reach to when God told Adam and Eve they deserved to suffer.
None of us are all good and none of us are all bad. Like my mom said. All I wanted to do was label the sheriff a murderer and get on with my life, but he didn’t actually kill Mom, you know? And I keep thinking about what Noah told me, that Sheriff McGhee cried after hitting him. That’s gotta mean some little speck of soul is still left in there somewhere. And even Jeremy, who went to court, he could’ve lied about his dad’s abuse, but he didn’t. He told the truth. And that’s what helped Noah’s mom win her case.
Jeremy stares into my eyes and turns without a word.
And when I turn around, I don’t feel angry. Not at him, not at anyone. I wonder if this was what Mom was telling me, about being better. I think it might be.
214
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE LEAVING me,” Rose says, collapsing on my bed with a theatrical flourish.
I open one of my dresser drawers and pick up a bundle of clothing. Depositing it into a box, I look at her, still reclined, wearing a lavender dress and looking, for all intents and purposes, like a woman in the middle of a W photo shoot. “I thought you were gonna help me pack.”
She gives me a look. “I’m protesting.”
I shake my head and throw open another drawer. “It’s not what I want, Rose. It’s just, after everything that’s happened…” I don’t get specific. I don’t say, having lost Mom again, living someplace where everything reminds me of her… it feels like being constantly stabbed in the gut with dull knives. Instead, I add, “We just can’t stay anymore.”
Rose sighs. “I get it, Sia. I do.” And raises an eyebrow. “So… no one knows about… you know. Your superpowers.” She whispers the last bit.
I shrug. “Armando, that head honcho. He knows. And probably a bunch of other head honchos and shit. But ever since the whole experimentation program’s been exposed, they’ve been kinda busy, testifying and all that.”
“You’re not afraid, though? That they’ll come and find you?”
I think of the way I can slip into a shadow, all flat and dark. I don’t even get sick afterward anymore. And of how I kicked open a locked car door as though it were made of paper. And then I think of what they did to all those innocent people. To my mom. “I think they should be more afraid of me.”
“Heck yes, they should.” Rose nods, then brightens. “In all the chaos, I forgot to tell you, I had dinner with Dad last week.”
I straighten my back. “Oh? How was it?”
Rose half smiles. “It—well, it was kind of awkward. At first. Okay, it was awkward, like, the whole time. But he apologized, Sia. For giving me such a hard time with my clothes and stuff, and he said he was proud of me, for everything. From my good grades to being a good friend and good Christian.” Her eyes are a little shiny.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s, like. A miracle, huh?”
Rose nods. “It is, isn’t it?”
We’re silent for a moment as I think about Cruz Damas and how he really does love Rose, and how maybe we’re all doing the best we can and the best we know how at the time, but we all make mistakes. And the beauty of it is we can fix them, you know? Just by being humble, by saying sorry, by showing our love.
Rose clears her throat. “Well, you’re coming over this evening, right? Mom’s cooking you a farewell dinner.”
“Crap,” I say. “I was supposed to go out with Noah, but there’s no way I’m missing your mom’s dinner.”
“Bring Noah.”
I look up. “Really? You’re mom’s not—”
Rose shrugs. “She’s different now that she’s kicked Dad out. I know you’ve been too busy to visit, but trust me. I don’t think she’ll mind.”
I nod slowly. “Okay. Sure. I’ll call and see if he’s game.” I go back to shoving my clothes in boxes. “Will Sam be there?”
“She can’t. Her dad’s going to be in town and he’s taking her out.” Rose stops my hands. “Shit, Sia. I already miss the heck out of you. How are we going to get through senior year apart, huh?”
Now Rose is crying for real, and so am I, and we hug for so long, my hands go numb, but we just keep holding each other until we’re okay again. I’ve known this since the sixth grade: if you hug your best friend long enough, everything almost feels okay again, even if just for a little while.
215
I PASS A MOUNTAIN OF brown boxes on my way to the backyard.
I hadn’t wanted to see what’s become of my garden after weeks of neglect. But now I have to. To say goodbye, at least.
Predictably, the corn is brittle and half-dead. I run my fingers
through its papery leaves.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
But my hand catches on something big—a husk. I peel it back and gasp.
There, a hundred perfect, plump kernels. Red like our blood, the blood that goes back and back until we meet our antepasados de maíz.
It makes me feel like I can keep the corn tradition going, in our new home. Maybe I can still make tortillas for Dad. Maybe I can make peace with the kitchen spirits.
I cup the crimson cob like it’s the most precious thing I’ve ever touched.
216
I FIND DAD IN THE office, stacking books. “Hey,” I say.
“What’s up, m’ija?” He doesn’t look at me. It’s like packing has hypnotized him lately. Sometimes he even forgets to eat.
I clear my throat. “Just wondering if you’re, you know. Okay.”
He finally looks up and gives me a smile. “ ’Course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Uh, I don’t know. Maybe because Mom’s dead for the second time and nothing could possibly suck more? Obviously I can’t say this. So I lean on the door and gesture to a frame in his hand. It’s an embroidery of my name, Artemisia Liana Martinez. Abuela made it when I was born, all in different purples with swirly letters. I’ve always loved it.
My question is so sudden, I don’t even realize it’s inside me until it’s out. “Why did Mom name me Artemisia?”
Dad blinks. “You mean she never told you?”
I shake my head. All I know is it was Mom’s choice.
Dad sits in his office chair, rolling back a little. The light from the window hits the lines on his face so perfectly, I get a premonition of what he’ll look like as a viejo. “There’s an artist,” he begins. “Named Artemisia Gentileschi. She was raped by one of her tutors. And she took him to court. Nothing much happened to the guy, but still. Women didn’t just do that stuff back then. Hundreds of years ago.”
I shift my weight from one hip to the other as he continues.
Sia Martinez and the Moonlit Beginning of Everything Page 23